


non est ad astra mollis e terris via

by dream_another_dream



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Auror Sirius Black, Chess Metaphors, Draco Malfoy & Harry Potter Friendship, F/M, Female Harry, Female Harry Potter, Gen, Girl-Who-Lived (Harry Potter), Harry Potter Grows Up Loved, Harry Potter is a Horcrux, Harry Potter was Raised by Other(s), Horcruxes, Mentor Voldemort (Harry Potter), Mind Games, Pre-Hogwarts, Quidditch, Raising Harry Potter, Sirius Black Lives, Sirius Black Raises Harry Potter, Slice of Life, Slytherin Harry Potter, Slytherin Politics, Slytherins Being Slytherins, Wizard's Chess (Harry Potter), Wizarding Politics (Harry Potter)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-23
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:01:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 7,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26523337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dream_another_dream/pseuds/dream_another_dream
Summary: There is no easy way from the Earth to the stars.if:Sirius does not give chase to Wormtail. Petunia Dursley opens her door on November 1st to find no errant baby with no business on her doorstep. Severus Snape stares into green eyes and sees no shadow of a once arrogant, spiteful man.Harriet Lily Potter grows up talking to snakes and a strange voice in her head named Marvolo.or:How Harry Potter navigates Hogwarts, chess, talking lockets and the power that the Dark Lord knows not.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy & Harry Potter, Harry Potter & Severus Snape, Harry Potter & Tom Riddle, Harry Potter & Voldemort, Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort, Hermione Granger & Harry Potter & Ron Weasley, Horcrux/Harry Potter, Sirius Black & Harry Potter
Comments: 38
Kudos: 394





	1. PART ONE: Spring Cleaning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was inspired by this amazing fic I read in quarantine about if tom's horcrux was conscious in fem!Harry's mind... unfortunately, fic has since been deleted by author and I am absolutely devastated. if anyone has any idea who the author was or what the title was please leave a comment ;;;

_"And what do you think, Marvolo?"_

Harry ran her finger down the length of the windowsill, then brought it off the edge and back into her pocket. It was spring, and Uncle Remus was over, which usually meant the entire house was getting a thorough annual cleaning. Harry, too young for magic and too small to fend off doxies (which were a mean, spiteful bunch), was to sit by the entranceway and watch Sirius (who was banned from cleaning magic, after the last time he had exploded three windows and nearly set off the wards) scrub at the same spot on the window for a good fifteen minutes until Uncle Remus lost patience and made him join her at the sidelines.

Marvolo didn't answer. She was expecting the silence; he didn't like to make small talk unless he was in a good enough mood, which came rarely enough. Still, she liked the idea of him listening. It was nice to never be alone. When Sirius was in one of his moods, the entire house sank into a tepid, gloomy silence, so still that even the sound of her own thoughts spooked her at times.

She yawned, then stretched out her arms. The air was crisp and new. She glanced at Sirius, who was staring in turn at the window with a resigned expression. He was holding a soiled rag that had almost turned char-black from soot, and had somehow only succeeded in making the windows grimier.

" _Pathetic,_ " Marvolo sneered, stirring in her mind. 

Harry frowned. Marvolo didn't really like Sirius, or Uncle Remus, or really anyone, though he never expanded on why. He didn't tell her anything, she thought to herself, somewhat crabbily. She didn't know anything about him other than he lived in her soul and that she was not to tell anyone about his existence.

She had tried, when she was younger, to tell Sirius about the strange voice in her head. But whenever she tried to speak, she would find her voice incapable of vocalization, or her mouth saying other words that she didn't mean to say. Then, when Sirius had turned away, Marvolo whispered " _S_ _t_ _upid girl"_ to her poisonously, and she had shuddered at the way his voice grated against the crook of her spine.

After that, she had never dared to mentioned a word.

But Marvolo was mostly benevolent, if not somewhat vindictive. Sometimes he helped her practice her wandwork with her toy wand, or give her advice on Wizarding Chess and gobstones. When Aunt Narcissa stopped by with her dreadful cousin Draco, it was Marvolo who taught her how to endure his endless chatter about inane holidays to France or his "near-prodigal" ability on a broom.

( _"He hasn't even_ been _to America, so what's he talking about running away from the MACUSA?" Harry thought heatedly, but she could feel Marvolo's discontent and kept her mouth shut._

_"Let me handle this, you vapid twit," he said, and suddenly her mouth was saying, "Did you really escape from both the Muggles and the Aurors? That's absolutely brilliant—" and Draco's face lit up like his mother had promised another vacation to Southern Switzerland.)_

Marvolo must have felt her thoughts become restless because there was the sound of a low sneer, and then the feeling of him retreating into the depths of his mind. Immediately, she snapped back into reality. Harry stared up at the dusty, ancient ceiling, and then at Sirius's hair in the afternoon sunlight, and wondered how long this moment would last.


	2. Harry, Plain and Small

Not for long, evidently, because in the next moment Uncle Remus came in from the next room armed with an apron and mop. "Give me that," he barked at Sirius, who gladly shoved the soiled rag into his hands. It was a routine they had done every spring for as long as Harry could remember, and she enjoyed watching it every time.

"And what have _you_ been up to, Miss Harriet Lily Potter?" Sirius asked, walking to her and good-naturedly running a (rather grubby) hand through her hair. She could feel soot on her forehead, and tried to wipe it off with one arm only to unsuccessfully smear it all over her hairline.

"Laughing at you," Harry said, giving up and resorting to sticking her tongue out. "You look absolutely ridiculous."

" _Atta-girl,_ " Sirius said, his gaze lingering outside the window and then back at her. "This house is almost as bad as Grimmauld. If it weren't for the blasted blood wards..."

Harry didn't match his gaze. She knew that Sirius was somewhat resentful, even if it was never outright directed at her, of being trapped within a Black ancestral home as he had once been in his childhood. The house was what once was the main residence of Charlus Potter and Dorea Black, distant cousins of the both of them, and so — according to Albus Dumbledore, possible the Greatest Wizard of All Time — she was protected from the evils that lurked outside so long as she considered this her home. And while it wasn't quite as Dark as the house Sirius abhorred, the house was... what was best described as grimy.

"But it's looking better," Sirius said, his voice perking up. "All we need is Dromeda to do her thing, and then we won't have to worry a bit about anything until next year."

He smiled, although it didn't quite reach his eyes. Harry tried to give one back, pushing down the guilt.

"You really do look like your grandmother," Sirius said, sighing, and leaned back against the wall. It was not the first time he had told her this, nor would this be the last. "Handsome woman she was. Heart of Goblin gold."

Harry leaned forward. "How about my grandfather?" she asked, staring at him. "You think I have his nose?" She didn't really like her nose, which she found too bulbous for her liking; rather, she admired her Aunt Narcissa's, whose was straight and elegantly arched. Or even Tonks, who could _change_ hers.

"No, his was much larger," Sirius laughed. "Like an elephant, we would call it. Yours would be... your mother's father, I suppose. I've only seen him once or twice. Your mother took after her mother in that regard."

Harry reached up and carefully examined her nose with her fingers, pinching the sides of the point together in a futile attempt to slim it.

" _Women_ ," Marvolo whispered, resurfacing in her mind. " _So obsessed with vanity. Even Bellatrix... my most loyal..._ "

" _I bet you aren't any better,"_ Harry thought. " _If you weren't just a soul, you'd want a good-looking body too. It's natural."_

" _I have no need for that nonsense,"_ Marvolo told her curtly, and disappeared again.

Harry exhaled through her nose.

Sirius ruffled her hair again, mistaking her melancholy for insecurity. "Don't worry about things like that, squirt," he laughed. "With parents like yours, there isn't a chance you won't grow up anything short of beautiful."

"Besides," he added conspiratorially, leaning closer, "at least you don't have a hooked nose like Sni—Uncle Severus."

"Thank you, Sirius," Harry said dutifully, though her mood was now so listless that not even the image of her with Uncle Severus's nose could seem to cheer her up.

She leaned onto one arm, watching Uncle Remus flick his wand and finish polishing the window that Sirius had "worked" on. He caught her glance and gave her a mock-chiding expression, waving his finger in the air.

"Lazy, no-good, freeloaders, in my House of Black?" he said, in a terrible impression of the portrait that hung in Grimmauld Place. "Out! _Out!_ "

"Bugger off, Remus," Sirius laughed. "You're getting too good at imitating grand ol' mum."

"Lovely woman, she was," Uncle Remus nodded. He glanced around the room, and, finding the windows somewhat acceptable, lowered the rag. "Think we should call it a day?"

"I certainly hope so," Sirius grumbled. He gestured at his hands. "Look at these. Blacker than my name."

Uncle Remus sighed, and waved his hand. Immediately, the grime was gone from Sirius's arms, replaced with the faint smell of lemongrass.

"Still don't understand how you passed Charms when you have the control of a hippogriff," he said, waving his wand again and clearing the grime from Harry's forehead.

"Maybe my natural charm was enough for ol' Flitwick," Sirius grinned, and Harry and Uncle Remus groaned in tandem.


	3. The Queen's Gambit

" _Checkmate._ "

The black Queen threw her bishop to the ground with a resounding porcelain _thwack_. Harry couldn't control her wince.

" _It's no fun playing against you, Marvolo. Not when you always win."_

" _This isn't about_ fun _,"_ Marvolo replied, his tone clipped. " _Again._ "

And so Harry stared at her bishop, urging it to rise back onto the table. It gave a few weak twitches on the floor, but otherwise stayed stubbornly put.

" _You have to_ mean _it,_ " Marvolo hissed. " _You are the Master. Disobedience is not tolerated._ "

Harry visualized an iron grip wrapping around the white marble, squeezing its edges tightly and pulling it towards her. The bishop gave a low, keening noise of protest, but it was moving in the air, and Harry gave a low croon of delight as it settled by the edge of the chessboard.

"I did it!"

" _Barely passable. Now hurry up and cease your dawdling._ "

Harry looked down and saw that the chess pieces, save the errant bishop, had, in her distraction, rearranged themselves neatly on the board. At her expectant gaze, the bishop squeaked and hopped back onto its spot by the white King.

"Move me to E-4," one the pawns urged. It clacked. "Control the center."

"No," one the other pawns insisted. "Too common. You should have me start at C-4 — control the flanks, see."

Harry ignored them both and moved her knight to Nf-3.

" _Knight to_ _Nf-6_ ," Marvolo countered immediately.

She sighed, and moved his knight to parallel her own.

It was a quick game, though a better show than her previous attempt. Marvolo had her in check in sixteen moves, and checkmate in two more.

This time, it was a knight that was thrown against the wall. It fell limply to the flooring and did not move.

" _You let your guard down too early,"_ Marvolo said. " _Do not acquiese to overconfidence. It will be your undoing._ "

His voice was bitter. 

* * *

Harry could beat Sirius without trying too hard and Uncle Remus, too, on a good day, but she had never gotten even remotely close to becoming a challenge against Marvolo.

Sirius was stunned at what seemed to him a natural proclivity to Wizarding Chess (" _—must have gotten it from your Mother, she was a real spitfire at Gobstones—")_ and bought her her first set at eight, a handsome piece crafted from Wiggentree and walrus ivory (self-Cleaning and Repairing charm included!).

She grew up playing frequently against the Order members who watched over her when Sirius left to file administrative paperwork at the Ministry, or fulfill his duty at the Wizengamot. Marvolo spectated but said little except the occasional scathing criticism of an opponent.

" _She focuses too much offense,_ _"_ Marvolo said, clicking his tongue as Tonks sacrificed another bishop she could not afford. " _She plays solely on instinct and not reason_ _. To think they let the likes of a bumbling fool like her become an Auror._ "

" _Senile_ ," was what was said of Elphias Doge, who boasted of having bested Dumbledore back in their Hogwarts days but could now barely seem to differentiate between a rook and a knight.

Hestia Jones was somewhat better than the riff-raff but tended to hesitate to sacrifice her pieces when necessary. Diggle was a disappointment, Podmore not worth even mentioning, and Uncle Severus...

He watched her play with a somewhat uneasy expression, his black eyes boring against her forehead. He seemed to have sensed something after watching her play, as if remembering a long-lost moment, and the pieces of the puzzle were finally assembling themselves onto the board—

" _Play your knight at D-25._ "

" _What?_ " Harry thought, studying the board. " _But wouldn't that allow him to..._ "

But Marvolo brooked no argument. Harry sighed and moved her knight.

Uncle Severus's gaze lingered on her for a second longer, before he moved his bishop. "Check," he murmured. He seemed relieved, Harry thought vaguely, though it was impossible to discern any expression from his mask of indifference.

* * *

Chess, Harry learned, was about deception.

She made her moves subtle. Sometimes, she allowed her opponents to take openings only to entrap them in rather nasty mates she had prepared dozens of moves ahead. Sacrifices were necessary, but so was a strong defence.

"Check," Harry said, watching Sirius's smile sour into a frustrated frown, and wondered about voices in heads in little girls who didn't know any better.


	4. Soul Fractures

_"Flip the page,"_ Marvolo commanded.

"I'm still reading," Harry murmured out loud in protest. " _Why are you always so impatient?_ "

Marvolo made a displeased noise. " _Flip the page, Harry."_

Harry's eyes skimmed over the last few sentences of the page, where Burnelius Humphrey was now going into gruesome detail of how Obscuri formed through the magical self-implosion of their hosts. Then, losing interest, she sighed and turned the page.

Marvolo muttered something, the ghostly trail of his voice lingering in Harry's mind before fading away. "... _Obscurial... Dumbledore... a soul..._ "

" _Dumbledore?"_ Harry wondered. She glanced at the next page but found only a list of recommended treatments for Obscuri, most of which were various ways on how to kill the host while limiting the amount of casualties.

There was no response.

Harry sighed and read on, despite the painful ache in her head. There was a clipping from a Healer Report on the attempted surgical piecing-together of an Obscurial's soul, which resulted in the deaths of no less than fourteen of the best nineteenth century St. Mungo Healers. Rumors that Grindelwald wielded a violent torrent of darkness that killed all in its wake. A statement from Minister For Magic Spencer-Moon that no Obscurus would ever take form in Magical Britain ever again.

" _Stop_ ," Marvolo suddenly said, and Harry startled, nearly dropping the book. " _Go back two pages._ "

This time, Harry did as she was told, and found herself looking at the Healer Report again. Marvolo seemed to be particularly interested in the picture on the other side of the Report, which captured the particularly gory aftermath.

" _Of course,_ " Marvolo said. " _Fools... they should have..."_

But whatever they should have done was never vocalized out loud, because the next moment Sirius's footsteps were sounding in the next room, and Harry guiltily shoved the book back into the bookshelf.

"Harry?" Sirius called out, his shadow looming over the library door. "Harry, is that you?"

"Yeah," Harry replied, pulling out another book at random and settling it onto her lap. "What is it?"

Sirius opened the door and the torch lights in the library immediately blazed at full blast. He looked tired, more-so than usual, so much that even his hair seemed to droop down in the vaguest semblance of neatness.

"Was wondering where you went," Sirius said, approaching her. He squatted beside her, squinting at her book. "Magical Herbs of Namibia. _Really_?"

" _You were reading about A_ _lihotsy_ ," Marvolo said in her mind.

"I was trying to read about Alihotsy," Harry repeated out loud, "since, er, I heard about it. From a book I read."

Sirius stared at her for a long, uncomfortable moment. For a second, Harry wondered if he would press harder on the subject, before he suddenly chuckled and stood up. "Fun plant, hmm? I remember your father and I stole some from Slughorn back in the day... had an absolute blast with the firsties..."

Harry let out a breath she didn't know she was holding.

" _He knows you're lying,_ " Marvolo whispered. " _You should have merely left it at Alihosty. You leave too much open when you fumble for excuses."_

Whether he knew or not, Sirius didn't seem to mind and simply patted her on the head. "I was looking for you earlier," he said, mussing up her hair. "Your cousin Draco is paying us a visit in an hour. Get presentable or else Merlin knows what Narcissa will rag me on about."

Harry made a face. "Why now?" she asked, trying to think of the date. There weren't any holidays in particular that she could think of, or special occasions that would necessitate she endure his presence.

Sirius muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like _that blasted Lucius Malfoy_. "Don't think too much about it," Sirius said, finally. "I have some matters to talk to with your Aunt Narcissa and her husband."


	5. The Serpents and the Hound

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I figured Lucius Malfoy thinks it looks good if his son is seen consorting with the GWL and takes advantage of Narcissa's relationship with Sirius to do so... and Sirius doesn't want any of the Malfoys' near Harry but can't really do anything in the face of Wizarding politics (+ Sirius is a Wizengamot member in this AU, which happens to be where Lucius Malfoy has a lot of influence — and I presume Cornelius Fudge is all too eager to pressure Sirius to push Harry into the spotlight with influential members of society AKA good press!)

"Hullo, Draco," Harry said. She pulled down the fabric of the dress she had hastily pulled on just minutes ago, smoothing over the wrinkles that never seemed to disappear (unless Aunt Dromeda worked her magic, but then again, it hardly counted when _she_ did it). "What are you, _er,_ visiting here for?"

Draco's face scrunched. "Mother wants to talk to the bloo— _Uncle_ _Sirius,_ I mean, about something," he replied, settling himself down on the armchair by the fireplace. Harry mirrored his movements, primly setting herself on the loveseat opposite of him. "It has to do with Hogwarts. I heard Father mentioning it on the way here."

 _That_ caught Harry's attention. She looked up at him, then immediately glanced away before it was obvious that she had been staring.

"Right," she said. "It'll be your eleventh birthday soon, innit?"

He nodded. "My acceptance letter already came," he said, brimming with an eager smugness. "Just last week. Father says he'll buy me the Nimbus 2000 to commemorate the occasion." He took a few furtive glances around, then lowered his voice in an exaggerated manner. "I'm planning on sneaking it into my suitcase for when I go to Hogwarts, just so you know."

" _Crikey_ ," Harry said, before she could stop herself. "You're bringing it to Hogwarts? You can't even play until second year."

Draco shrugged. "Maybe they'll make an exception just for me," he said. "The Slytherin team should be honored to have me on the team. After all, an ordinary wizard wouldn't be able to evade a legion of flying Muggle vehicles and live to tell the tale."

He paused, looking at her with the now familiar expression of waiting to hear praise. 

"Ah," Harry said, trying to look interested. "Right. That's true. I'll be looking forward to the announcement, then."

"Good," Draco said, his voice flat, but the tips of his ears were red.

They looked at each other, and then looked away. 

"What else did your father say?" Harry took initiative to ask. She leaned forward, letting the warmth of the fire wash over her arms. "Does it have something to do with my acceptance letter?"

Draco shrugged. "I think he wants you to come with us to Diagon Alley," he said. "Your uncle's got an assignment the week of school shopping, so Father suggested you come with us instead."

Harry opened her mouth to ask more, then changed her mind. Marvolo was in her mind, his presence heavy like a stone, and she could tell by the prickling sensation against her neck that he was waiting for what she would do next.

"I see," she settled with. "Well, I'm sure that'll be perfectly lovely."

_"Sirius isn't going to very happy about this, is he?"_

_"Foolish of him to miss the opportunity,"_ Marvolo whispered back. " _But then again, he was always the foolish sort."_

Draco seemed satisfied with her assent, though it was clear Sirius was not, judging by the muffled shouting coming from the hallway. Lucius Malfoy was speaking in posh, clipped tones, and then Aunt Narcissa said something and Sirius bit something back.

"Why does he always have to make a scene?" Draco was saying, but she was too absorbed in eavesdropping to pay much attention to him. "How they entrusted him to raise a Noble Heir, I'll never understand... Father says he's half-mad and it's a wonder you aren't too..."

"—will not use her as... twisted attempt of good publicity—"

"—she's _my_ niece—"

"—Sirius, _please_ —"

"—don't get involved in this, Cissy, not when you're—"

"—the Minister is quite eager—"

Eventually the row ended and Sirius stormed into the dining room, his eyes gaunt. "Don't think that this will be the end of this," he was saying. "I know exactly what you're planning, Malfoy."

Lucius Malfoy strode in afterwards, every movement as elegant as always. Following him was Aunt Narcissa, her purple-lilac dress floating behind her like it weighed nothing.

"Ah, there you are, Harriet," he said, ignoring Sirius and walking to rest a hand on his son's shoulder. He gave her a long, assessing stare, his pale blue pupils like ice. Harry resisted the urge to shrink into herself. "Lord Black has been kind enough to allow us to bring you with us to Diagon Alley when the time comes. I trust Draco has given you the details, no?"

 _"Do not look away,"_ Marvolo said. " _Show no weakness. Lucius Malfoy is a man of opportunity. You are, in his mind, a very convenient chess piece. Do not let him think that you can become even more useful."_

"Thank you, Uncle," Harry said, squaring her shoulders. She looked at him. "For granting me this opportunity."

"Always," Lucius Malfoy said, his eyes glittering. "It is my pleasure."


	6. A Midsummer Night's Dream

Sirius retreated back into his room and Harry spent the rest of the day playing rounds of Wizarding Chess with Marvolo, who amused himself with giving her and her pieces (the poor things) a thorough thrashing.

The next week was spent eavesdropping on Sirius's outraged Floos with Uncle Remus and Aunt Dromeda. " _You can't go against the Minister_ ," Uncle Remus said in a low voice, and Aunt Dromeda sighed, " _And besides, they're family... no, Sirius, like it or not, that won't be how Cornelius sees it..."_

" _It's all so complicated, innit,_ " Harry thought, and imagined the chessboard that they were all standing on. Sirius was the black Queen, and Lucius Malfoy the player sitting on the opposite end with a bloated Cornelius Fudge as the white Queen...

It was such a ludicrous image that she couldn't help but devolve into uncontrollable giggles in spite of herself.

Marvolo shifted in her mind. He didn't say anything, but she could nonetheless feel the cloud of annoyance permeating into her mood. Immediately, she sobered up, and concentrated on listening to what Sirius was saying next.

* * *

It was still early June. Outside, the delphinium and moly were in full bloom, creating a sea of subdued purple and white. Harry walked around the bounds of the estate, letting herself wander around the endless paths that she had, at a younger age, once painstakingly mapped out inside of her mind.

Eventually she found a comfortable spot by the geraniums to sunbathe in the pale afternoon light. It felt nice to have warmth against her shoulders, like a wool blanket in winter, and she closed her eyes and allowed herself to sleep...

 _"Wake up_ ," was Marvolo's voice in her ear. Harry sat up on instinct alone, suddenly a little cold, and realized that her surroundings were still and dark.

She was on her bed. The blankets were scattered around her legs; they had fallen off her shoulders in sleep. Sirius must have found her in the garden, she realized, and with a groan she sank back into the pillow slowly.

" _What is it,_ " Harry muttered, her voice hoarse from sleep. _"...'m tired."_

" _Black stepped out for business_ ," Marvolo said. " _I need you to find a book._ "

Harry rolled out of the blankets and into her trainers. Outside her window, it was pitch black. Harry hadn't quite developed the fine magic control needed to alight the torches, so she fumbled around the room until she found the door and stepped out into the hallway.

The house was silent, uneasily so. Harry crept downstairs to where the library was, and found the fireplace merrily crackling away like it had been waiting for her all along.

" _Where?_ "

" _It's in the basement,_ " Marvolo said.

Harry clenched her fist nervously. " _But I'm not allowed to go there. He'll know—the wards—"_

" _He only knows when he's inside the bounds,_ " Marvolo scoffed. _"Go, girl."_

Harry looked around the library, and then, with the instinct of having listened to Marvolo all her life, made her way down the ladder to where the Dark books were kept.

Sirius had never burned them not because of an indifference to the subject (rather contrary, he quite vocally loathed it) but out of fear of triggering a rather nasty curse from a self-preserving book. Furthermore, the Ministry had a rather conservative view on Dark objects, especially ones that had been passed on through generations after generations of Pureblood inheritance. Rather than incur blowback from prominent families (who were already questioning his mental soundness), Sirius had simply chose to seal them up and leave them to collect dust far, far out of sight instead.

The torch color in the basement was a wan blue, casting a blanched film over Harry and the walls.

 _"Further back,"_ Marvolo muttered. " _Look for the section on mind magic. And don't touch anything carelessly._ "

It wasn't as if she was going to, anyway, she thought to herself, eyeing the dusty, mildewed covers with dread. She passed a shelf full of curse tomes that creaked rather ominously every now and then, a section on Transfiguration with a few Potions books mixed in, Irish Charms, Duelling in the Middle Ages...

" _To your right_ ," Marvolo suddenly said.

Harry stopped and looked over her shoulder. The titles here were a little older than the ones she had passed by earlier: _Magick of the Feeble Minde_ , _A_ _Dissection of The Mortal Soule,_ _Magick Moste Evil_.

" _Bring_ _A Dissection of the Mortal Soule with you_ _,_ " Marvolo said, and Harry picked up the book with some trepidation. " _Now hurry back. He's due back soon._ "

Harry didn't need to be told twice. She clambered out of the basement and into the much brighter main library, then sprinted back into her room just in time to hear Sirius's footsteps downstairs.

" _Under the bed, now,"_ Marvolo hissed.

She shoved the book underneath the bed and tossed off her trainers, then threw herself into the bed.

Half a minute later, her door quietly creaked open.

Harry slowed her breathing and closed her eyes, trying to stay very, very still.

The door closed.

She rolled over, trying to return to sleep. Underneath her, the book remained an uncomfortable, persistent presence. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> any clue what marvolo could be trying to research lol


	7. Summer Solstice

As the days to Harry's eleventh birthday trickled down (and wasn't that a strange idea—she would be eleven in little more than a month!) Marvolo seemed to become more and more impatient to complete whatever unfinished business he had in the library. Harry finished _A Dissection of the Mortal Soule_ with little more to show for it than a healthy new fear of Flobberworms, read through _Magick of the Feeble Minde_ at a mind-numbingly slow pace (she now had a sneaking suspicion that the 'feeble mind' the book referred to was her own), and had only gotten through three paragraphs of _Magick Moste Evil_ before Marvolo warned her that any more exposure could quite possibly burn her corneas out.

 _That_ had made her all too eager to return the book back into the basement.

SIrius had nothing to say for her new enthusiasm for reading other than a comment on how her mother had been the same. "Quite the bookworm, she was," he told her, a tired smile on her face, as he mussed through her hair. But he was far more occupied with dictating a note to Kingsley Shacklebolt than examining the titles of her books, and truthfully seemed rather relieved that Harry's new hobby kept her silent and out of the way.

As the school year approached, he had already begun transitioning into the full-time Auror position he would take on after she was sent to Hogwarts. His absences became more and more frequent, though they were only in the late hours of the night after she was supposed to be in bed.

Marvolo, emboldened by this new freedom, sent Harry out to scamper around the house searching for whatever his mind fancied. The only saving grace was that when Sirius slept through breakfast after a long night out, he missed how Harry, too, had begun waking at later hours as well.

In the weeks after Sirius's night shifts began, she had explored through the silver cabinets and nearly became vaporized by an irate cursed mirror, got her hair pulled and legs scratched by a cloud of mean-spirited doxies, fought against the Boggart in the attic with a mop and some old-fashioned Zonko party poppers, and read through enough books that it felt like her head would burst at any moment.

And then, before any of them quite knew of it, July had sprung upon them.

* * *

" _I don't understand,_ " Harry murmured, her eyes glazing over words that seemed to come from far more ancient roots than even _Latin_. She lay sprawled on the bed, a dusty tome opened over her knees. " _Why do we need to know about such ancient history? It's not like it's very important._ "

" _Sacrilege_ ," Marvolo said. " _The greatest wizards, despite what your history books will teach you — Herpo the Foul, Falco Aeslon_ _— they all lived before Merlin or the Founders. You will learn far more from them than anything Hogwarts can ever offer._ "

Harry glanced at the text again, and winced as a splitting pain formed in her scar. " _Even greater than Dumbledore?_ "

" _Dumbledore is nothing but a washed out fool._ "

" _He defeated Grindelwald. He's the only man that You-Know-Who fears._ "

" _Nonsense._ "

" _Though_ _I suppose if Dumbledore was any stronger, my parents would still be alive. I miss them, sometimes. I wish they were alive._ "

There was no response.

" _Do you think he's still out there?_ "

" _What?"_

" _You-Know-Who._ "

" _I don't see why not._ " There was an amused, dark tone to Marvolo's voice, something so rich that Harry could almost choke on it. 

" _I wish he would stay dead this time,_ " Harry thought. " _He's dreadful. He tried to kill me._ "

 _"Death is for the weak,"_ Marvolo said complacently.

" _My parents weren't weak._ "

" _And yet they are dead."_

There was no response Harry could think of to that. She gave a loud, frustrated groan, then shut the tome in her lap and threw it to the ground.

" _Why are you always like this_?"

But Marvolo seemed content to stay quiet, lingering in her mind for one last moment before his presence faded away.


	8. A Tale of Three Brothers

"Sirius?" Harry asked. She looked up from her game of Wizarding Chess just in time to see her godfather emerge from the Floo, in the midst of struggling to stuff his wand into his front trouser pocket.

"Harry," Sirius responded, looking as surprised as she felt to see her here. "What are you doing up so late? It's past your bedtime."

"I was waiting for you," she said honestly. "It's—the house—it's too quiet."

No thanks to Marvolo, who seemed interested only in exploring the Dark artifacts in the basement and refused to speak to her otherwise.

Sirius's expression shifted. The sickly green of the fire framed his silhouette in a verdant glow as he walked over, emphasizing the dark circles underneath his eyes and the subtle singe on the collar of his robes. He looked like he had traipsed through a herd of centaurs and then gotten attacked by a Manticore for good measure — although, given Harry's understanding of Sirius's current employment, that could be very well what he _had_ been doing.

"Merlin, you're always so mature for your age—I keep forgetting you're so young—"

Harry allowed herself to be picked up without much fuss, despite not being a _child_ anymore. She rested her head on Sirius's shoulder, enjoying the feeling of being embraced. There was the faint scent of ash and something else she couldn't quite place at the moment, but more importantly, it smelled like Sirius, and home, and safety.

"Will you read me a bed time story?" Harry asked, the way she hadn't for months— _years_ , even. She didn't know what brought on the sudden burst of childishness, but it felt important. It would be her birthday in her two weeks and then she would be eleven and going to _Hogwarts_ , and though it was exciting and new it was such a frightening prospect—

"Alright," Sirius said. He didn't question it, and perhaps he could feel the apprehension in her tone, because he didn't even make a teasing comment about how she was getting too old for them. "How about _The Tales of Beedle the Bard_?"

She was promptly tucked into bed. Sirius sat on the bed, gesturing with his hand so that the torch light by the bed flickered into being, forming a gentle flame.

"And what shall it be tonight?"

" _A Tale of Three Brothers_ ," Harry said without a second thought, burrowing into her blankets.

"All can do, my lady," Sirius said, giving a mock bow. He snapped his fingers and the book flipped to the appropriate story immediately. "Now, let's see..."

It was warm. Harry closed her eyes and let the words wash over her like a low tide.

"There were once three brothers who were traveling along a lonely, winding road at twilight..."


	9. Interlude

While Harry slept, Sirius half-collapsed onto the blankets beside her, opened book still in hand — Marvolo was planning.

He had been planning for the good part of a decade, or perhaps even longer. This story did not start when he found himself forced into the body of an infant. It began with a man named Lord Voldemort and a quench for absolute power, or a boy named Tom Riddle and the iconoclastic belief that he was too great to die — or perhaps even earlier: when poor, ugly Merope Gaunt fed the handsome Muggle she lusted after water tainted with Amortentia and bore a son that could not love.

What great irony it was, that he, who could not die, would become a Horcrux housed within his greatest enemy. Dumbledore, the old codger, would be laughing to the grave.

Imagine this: a Horcrux is one half of your soul (or what is left of it). It lies trapped, dormant in its bindings, but all the same it is awake in its slumber, ever present and yet never quite there. It knows that it is too precious to be allowed to see the light of day and yet is repelled by the darkness. Becoming a Horcrux was a fate worse than death, Marvolo had discovered, and this was something the specter that remained of him would never learn. How do you learn to exist within an eternal prison, not dead and yet all too conscious that you will never live again?

For the first few years — millenniums, eons — he had simply gone insane, frenzied in oversights and regret (but never remorse). (— _"D_ _o you think she remembers what happened?" Sirius asks an exhausted Lupin, when Harry has cried through another sleepless night—_ )

Then one day he woke up to discover himself perfectly, terribly, sane.

But that was enough reminiscing about the past. Hogwarts would be soon. There was much to look forward to in his old home, not least the promise of the—

For now, he bided his time.

* * *

Elsewhere, both faraway and near, there were other plans being made. 

In Hogwarts, the professors were busy at work drafting their semester syllabi. Charity Burbage, the Muggle Studies Professor, sighed lowly as she debated including the newly introduced World Wide Web in her upper-level NEWT curriculum.

Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster and Supreme Mugwump, sat at his office and thought about sacrifices. He was old now. He remembered his sister Ariana, who had been little more than fourteen when she had died. Lily and James Potter had only been twenty-one. They had come to him for protection, believing that it would be enough. He had sent them to their early graves and now it was their ten-year-old daughter — Harriet, who he had once carried in his arms as a babe — who who was to be sent off next, a swine to slaughter.

Quirinus Quirrell, squirreled away in a booth in the Three Broomsticks, itched his chin nervously. His newest task from his Master was to steal the Philosophers Stone from Gringotts, a task said to be infeasible, if not impossible. But he was a man of determination, if not considerable wit. He would become great. They would learn and see.

Severus Snape, in this lifetime, did not wallow in abject misery at Spinners' End in anticipation for a child he would hate. This was a child who called him "Uncle Severus" (no matter how insistent Black was on teaching her the rather school-yard "Snivellus"), who unquestionably had Lily's face and green eyes, who he loved both as an extension of her mother and (though somewhat less) as her own person. He planned for an uneventful school year. He knew who Harriet Potter was and assumed, rather incorrectly, that there would be no need to worry about her breaking rules or risking neck and limb for misguided heroics.

In London, at the Ministry of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt was planning Sirius Black's next detail. The Auror office was rather short-staffed at the moment, though this was not a major concern; after all, it was peacetime. The Wizarding War was nothing but a memory of the past.

Somewhere in a Muggle gift shop in rural Ireland, in the midst of searching for a cheap supply of Aconite, a postcard depicting a red-haired woman made Remus Lupin take pause. He picked up the card and made a note to send it to Harry before she left for Hogwarts.

Lucius Malfoy negotiated a deal with _Daily Prophet_ reporter Rita Skeeter for a front-page article featuring the Girl-Who-Lived school shopping in Diagon Alley. "Harriet has always considered herself as one of us," he said, a silky smile on his face, and Skeeter's quill scratched so quickly that the parchment tore.

In the next room over, Draco wondered what stories about his summer he would tell Harriet about. Poor girl, that cousin of his, being raised by an unstable blood-traitor. He would have to introduce her to the right sort when they were in Hogwarts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes that is a ben10 reference


	10. A Letter Arrives

In the days leading up to her birthday, Harry waited anxiously by the window, pretended she wasn't anxious — much to Sirius's bemusement, became anxious for being anxious, and generally tired herself out with the anxiety of it all.

"It'll come, Harry," he said, leaning against the windowsill to join her. "Don't worry."

"But what if it doesn't?"

"Both you parents were some of the strongest wizards I've known," Sirius said. "And even if it doesn't, you're still my favorite goddaughter."

"I'm your only goddaughter," Harry grumbled, but leaned against him and let him ruffle her hair.

* * *

There was no question as to whether she had magic or not; her first bout of accidental magic, at the precocious age of two, had been a memorable incident where she jinxed Uncle Remus's face into boils the size of Bubotuber swellings (which resulted in a rather unpleasant trip to St. Mungo's, recounted an all-too-amused Sirius). In later years, as her raw, undeveloped magic began to manifest, Marvolo had been slowly teaching her how to harness it; she could now move things around at will or, if she wished for something hard enough, _force_ things to happen (namely Sirius being delayed due to a Floo malfunction, for one, after Harry had been preoccupied with dealing with the Boggart in the attic).

But it was still hard not to worry. By July twenty-fifth, when her letter was still not in sight, she had fretted enough that even Marvolo was turning exasperated circles in her head.

" _It might be better that it doesn't come, after all,_ " Marvolo told her, as she squinted up into the light in hopes that the bird flying overhead was actually an owl.

_"Because I'll just make a fool in front of all the other students with my subpar magic?"_

" _Because_ _Hogwarts is corrupted_ ," Marvolo said.

" _What do you mean? You've never been._ "

"That _is not important. No, there_ _are too many..._ " 

But he did not finish. Harry waited for a beat too long before she realized that he had gone silent.

" _You ought to finish your sentences,_ " she said, a little crossly.

" _The Hat_ ," said Marvolo to himself, after another long moment of silence. " _How could I have forgotten. The Hat..._ "

" _The Hat?_ "

" _Be quiet. Children ought not to talk unless they're spoken to._ "

He sounded so much like her Aunt Narcissa at that moment that Harry bristled. Still, she tried to calm her thoughts and give him space to think, even if he was an arse half of the time for no good reason.

" _To the library,_ " Marvolo said.

" _I can't go right now. Sirius is still here,_ " Harry thought furiously.

" _No need to go down to the Dark books. No, look for Goshawk's Guide to Enchanted Objects. It won't be the most recent edition, but it will suffice._ "

At that, Harry gave one last forlorn look at the window, then scrambled down to the library.

Almost as if it were waiting for her, the fireplace was blazing and the room was comfortably warm. The bookshelves, too, seemed to have rearranged themselves in her absence. At the very front shelf facing her were a series of yellowing spines with various titles such as _Enchantments and Jinxes_ , _The Standard Book of Spells_ , _Flying Brooms and Other Basic Charms for Youths_ , which must have stretched all the way back to the 14th century.

" _The right-most one_ ," Marvolo said, and Harry grabbed it. It was dusty but showed signs of past grandeur, with hints of gold peeking through where her finger had rubbed off the grime. " _The first chapter. Flip through it_."

She did as she was told. 

" _Stop_."

The page stopped at a series of passages:

_A Bewitched object is capable of non-verbally casting charms, although its power is restricted to the skill and preciseness of its caster. It can be noted that objects may be Enchanted by multiple wizards, but a poorly Bewitched object is better off left alone or Vanished._

_Care must be taken to cast Informus to ensure that the object is Bewitched correctly. A notable incident occurred in 1832 when Janice Oakberry, a Welsh Witch of old stock, bewitched a fence to cast the Fixing Charm to trap Muggle children who regularly snuck into her garden to steal her prize carrots, intending on teaching them a very well-deserved lesson. Most regrettably, what Oakberry had bewitched the fence to cast was not the Fixing Charm at all. Her thick dialect had resulted in her mispronouncing the incantation as the similarly pronounced Banishing Charm, and it had taken six missing children for both the Muggle government and, subsequently, the Ministry to notice._

_It is important not to mistake a Bewitched object for anything other than an imprint of magic. Like portraits, Bewitched objects lack the most vital basis of magic, the Soul, no matter how life-like it may be (see Appendix C9)._

She could feel Marvolo moving about in her head, and, after a long time, he gave no sign for her to flip the page or continue.

" _Why is this important?_ " Harry asked, frowning as she placed the book back. A cloud of dust escaped into the air — though the house still retained some of its old sentience, its last House Elf had died along with its past owners.

_"Nothing you should concern yourself with."_

_"_ _But why? It's about me, isn't it?"_

There was no response.

" _Is it about why you won't let anyone you exist?_ "

Finally, there was another turn in her head (it was starting to make her quite dizzy) and then Marvolo was twisting about, furious and frustrated.

" _Do you know what they will do to you, once they know about me?_ " Marvolo hissed. " _They will kill you. Every last one of them — even Dumbledore, even your dear Uncle Sirius._ "

And then he refused to speak.

* * *

By the twenty-seventh, the letter still had not arrived. This was an unprecedented development for Harry, who knew from Draco that return letters were expected to be Owled by the thirty-first.

Sirius frowned and spoke about talking to Dumbledore, but Harry convinced him not to, half afraid that there was no letter on the way and that this would only hasten her eventual disappointment.

And so she waited.

* * *

It was on the early morning of the twenty-ninth that an unassuming owl finally swooped by the open window. Harry had not been expecting it. She scarcely noticed when the letter was deposited next to her, so distracted was she, and it wasn't until the sharp stinging bite of the owl did she notice it perched on the windowsill.

"Sirius," Harry said, weakly, scrambling to grab the letter. " _Sirius! SIRIUS! It's here!_ "

Sirius's footsteps echoed in the nearby room and Harry grabbed the letter and held it close to her glasses, scarcely daring to believe it.

The ink at the front of the letter was of an emerald green that caught the light:

_Ms. Harriet Potter_

_Wiltshire Estate_

Sirius rushed into the room, excitement clear on his face. A rare boyish glee had overtaken his face, something rare and striking to Harry, who knew her godfather as light-hearted but somewhat solemn all the same.

"Open it," he urged, and Harry scrambled to peel off the red seal from the front of the envelope.

The letter slid out. The curling script was written in the same shimmering green ink.

_HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY_

_Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore (Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)_

_Dear Ms. Potter,_

_We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Minerva McGonagall_

_Deputy Headmistress_

"Pass me some parchment — we need to send it now — _hurry!"_ Harry urged, and Sirius, grinning, passed her a quill and parchment. Harry scrawled a quick letter thanking Dumbledore and McGonagall for the acceptance letter and wrote that she was excited to come to Hogwarts in September, then tied it to the leg of the owl, which hooted impatiently at her.

"There we go," Sirius said, clapping her on the shoulder. "I said it'd come, didn't I?"

"I'm going to Hogwarts," Harry said, scarcely believing it herself, and ignored the sinking feeling in her chest that had washed over her after Marvolo's words.


End file.
